Twist of Fate
by Maddie
Summary: Set in the Crossover Universe, Kira Nerys attemtps to 'rescue' Bashir from mines in which he has been imprisoned.


(The usual disclaimers apply. Paramount owns the characters but the plot belongs to me. Comments, reviews, constructive criticism welcome. Do not forward or archive without permission of author. This story was originally published in the Orion Press fanzine "Facets". This is the first time it has appeared on the net.) 

Another foray into the mirror universe of the episode "Crossover" this story was inspired by a one line thought of Kira's written in another DS9 story, "After the Looking Glass." I expanded on the idea here, however the story stands alone. It is rated a strong R for sexual situations. While suggestive, it is not explicit. You have been warned.   


**TWIST OF FATE**

By, Maddie   
  
  


"Inside." 

The single terse command was followed by a sharp jab as the Klingon guard used the butt of his disruptor to jostle his prisoner through the doors and into the farthest corner of the turbolift. A second guard followed them in and gave the command for the habitat level, then positioned himself before the entry. 

Swaying with the subtle movement of the lift, Julian Bashir sagged against the wall, trying to make sense of this new twist of fate. In the breadth of time it took to traverse the wormhole, he and Major Kira had been thrust into a hellish, convoluted world where Klingons, Bajorns, and Cardassians were allies and Humans slaves. One moment he had been the Chief Medical Officer of a deep space station returning home from a successful mission to the Gamma quadrant, minutes later, he had become a laborer in an ore processing facility run by a sadistic shapeshifer who should be a comrade, not an overseer. In less than forty-eight hours a life time of study and accomplishment had dissolved into a macabre existence of endless toil, exhaustion and pain. 

Bashir tried to calm his jumbled thoughts, to block out the nightmare of the past hours and concentrate on surviving whatever would be thrown at him next, but his mind refused to ignore the confusion and fear. The shapeshifter had singled him out to be ridiculed and beaten. His body was bruised from the constant reminders that he must learn the rules. Everything he said, or did, was twisted into some infraction worthy of punishment, and when he had survived an entire hour without such a 'reminder', when he thought he had, perhaps, been forgotten for a few moments, he was suddenly hauled from the line of Terran workers. His hands were secured behind his back with binders, and he was marched from the ore processing center, back into the main corridors of the station. 

The turbolift slowed to a stop, drawing his attention to the present. His guards pulled him from the corner and pushed him out into the corridor, making to effort to be gently, slamming him into the opposite bulkhead with bone jarring force. He slumped against the hard steel wall, stunned and in need of support while he caught his breath. 

"What is that doing up here?" demanded a churlish voice. 

Bashir looked up into the haughty face of a richly gowned Bajoran woman. The cold light in her eyes mirrored a lifetime spent looking down on 'his kind'. Under other circumstances he might have found her attractive, but she regarded him with utter contempt. 

"He belongs below with the rest of the vermin." She spat the words as though they left a bitter aftertaste, then passed, making a great show of using the opposite side of the corridor. 

"This way." the Klingon reached out, yanked him to his feet, then propelled him forward until they came to a side passageway, secluded from the main thoroughfare. Stopping before a door midway down its length, the guards neither signaled their presence nor requested permission to enter, they simply did, as thought they were expected. Inside, they forced the young human into the center of the room. 

Bashir glanced around the interior of the lavishly decorated apartment. Soft cream carpet, deep and resilient, cushioned his feet in its thickness. Paintings covered the walls and beneath them stood low couches piled with cushions. Through an adjacent doorway, he could see into a sleeping chamber of equal richness. A soft, floral scent rose from the deep bathing pool, partially screened by rich, brocaded hangings, located in the farthest corner of the room in which they stood. There was movement behind the curtain and a gentle lap of water. One of the Klingons stepped up to the curtain. 

"We have brought the Terran you requested." There was unmasked distaste in the Klingon's voice. 

Bashir did not hear the response. There was a rustling of fabric, then the drapery was thrown back. 

"Major Kira!" Bashir was startled by her appearance. "You're alive! I had no idea what had happened to you." A rush of excitement and relief surged through him and he took a single step forward. Before he could take a second step, he was grabbed by the collar of his uniform, his feet were knocked from under him and he was slammed to his knees by his Klingon watchdogs. 

"You are to keep your place, Terran," said the Klingon who had addressed Kira. 

"That was not necessary, Duvan." Kira's retort was curt. "I asked for him to be brought here. It is only natural that he be surprised. Leave us." 

"But our orders--" 

"Do not say you have to stand right under my nose. Position yourselves by the door." There was no mistaking the savage command in her voice, and the Klingons withdrew. Kira stooped and sat on the floor next to where Bashir still knelt. 

"Are you all right?" she asked him in a low whisper. 

"So far," Bashir answered, still surprised and confused by Kira's unexpected appearance. "A little worse for wear, but nothing broken." 

"Nothing yet." Kira's voice was oddly flat and unreadable. 

"Major Kira." Bashir fought the urge to glance over his shoulder to where the guards stood. He found himself trying to assure her without thinking of the absurdity of it. "I really am all right. But I was worried about you. I didn't know what they might have done to you after we were separated, or where you had been taken." Indicating the gracious apartment with a slight nod of his head, he sighed. "It appears you are well and have fared far better than I." 

Kira snorted, waving at the surrounding luxury. "If you consider being watched constantly, well." 

Bashir ignored the sarcasm and leaned forward, his voice barely a whisper, pressing her for more information. "Have you been able to discover what happened? Where we are or how we got here?" 

"I have a theory." Kira nodded her head toward the Klingons. "But I would rather not talk about it in front of them. Besides, that's not why you're here." 

"Major, why I'm here doesn't matter. While we are together, we should concentrate on finding our way back to our own place. If we are separated again, we might not get another chance. We have to find a way home." 

Kira shook her head negatively. "I don't think so." 

"You don't think so?" Bashir's voice rose slightly. He was exhausted and desperately aware of his precarious position in this society. Her blandness irritated him. 

"I don't think we can find our way home." Kira avoided looking directly at him. 

"Are you saying we are trapped here?" Bashir asked again. 

"I'm saying there may be no place for us to go back to. " Kira's voice was edged with a familiar annoyance. She stabbed her finger into the plush floor covering. "This is our reality now." 

"I can't accept that. The duplicate of you I saw in the corridor, the one they called Intendant--" 

Kira cut him off with a wave of her hand, then spoke as though the subject were entirely distasteful, "I can't tell you anything about her, except she is not the same person you know as Kira Nerys, despite the physical likeness." 

"I realize it must be shocking to discover a mirror image of yourself, major, but you mustn't let that blind you to any possibility that she can help us, or that we could use your resemblance to her to get ourselves out of here." 

"No." 

Bashir's breath hissed through clenched teeth. Kira's apparent reluctance to think about a solution rankled. "I'm sorry," he snapped, "but I cannot accept that. I'm not sure what happened to us, whether we passed through a time portal, or a distortion in the structure of space as the result of the wormhole, but I can't believe there's no way to reverse the situation. To right this. That is, of course, unless you find this pampered, privileged life so appealing you are willing to sacrifice your own world, your own people, your freedom, to stay here." 

Kira slapped him, hard, across the face, and he blinked. Rage burned in her eyes and on her face. "You will _not_ talk to be in that manner..." 

"Terran." Bashir finished her sentence in a voice so soft it was barely audible. "It comes easily, doesn't it, Major?" He could not resist the verbal jab. It was true she did not have as much to loose as he, but she was still a prisoner here. She had grown to adulthood under the oppressive yoke of Cardassian occupation, and he found her reluctance to take action a callous response to their predicament. 

As he watched, the anger faded, extinguished like a candle in a thunderstorm, squelched, perhaps, by the realization that he was right. She brushed a hand through her cropped red hair, and for the barest moment, looked contrite. 

"I didn't mean to say that. I have found it necessary to play the game by their rules." 

Bashir shook his head. "What is the sense of playing the game if it doesn't buy us our freedom?" 

"Look, doctor, we can't discuss that now. Not here. Before we can plan our escape we must be certain you are safe." 

"I will never be safe in this universe, Major." 

Kira shrugged. The sudden change in attitude from bland disregard to concern seemed forced. "You don't know that. The only certainly is that you must be removed from ore processing immediately and permanently. You are in danger there and I could not think of any other way to have you released without arousing suspicion or attracting attention." 

Bashir settled back on his heels with a sigh. The anger drained from him leaving him spent. He had no energy to argue with Kira. "I wouldn't say I got here without attracting attention," he said quietly. "A rather irate Bajoran woman in the corridor allowed as how I was best left to the voles in the ductwork. Actually, I think she equated me with the voles." 

"That is because the fool could not see past the book cover." 

Bashir closed his eyes. He had slept little since their arrival, and he found it increasingly difficult to concentrate. Kira's fingers brushing across his cheek startled him. 

"She needs to see what lies beneath the grime of the mines." Kira had moved closer to him, until her face was inches from his. She studied him intently, and Bashir felt a sudden surge of suspicion. 

Leaning away from her, he looked for any sign this was not the woman he had stepped off the runabout with. He wished he had been able to know Kira better, because he honestly would not recognize any subtle changes in her. 

"Major, you may be placing yourself in grave danger simply by having me here." Even as he said it, Bashir realized he was in no position to offer her assurance or protection, and he doubted his return to the lower decks would solve anything. It remained imperative they not be separated. 

"I can be in no more danger than I was when you were not here. And as for that bitch, Alg--" 

"Who?" Bashir interrupted. Kira's sudden catty outburst signaled a warning, putting him on his guard. 

"Nothing," Kira said nonchalantly. "The one in the corridor. I have met her. I'm sure her opinion would change if you were cleaned up and suitably dressed." 

"No," the doctor said, half to himself, "I doubt that." Having experienced the anti-Terran prejudice of this universe first hand, he knew _her_ opinion would not change if he appeared as one of the prophets. 

"But it wouldn't hurt to try." Kira's voice had dropped to a soft sensual purr. She reached for a cloth from a neatly folded pile beside the bathing area. 

"W...What do you mean?" 

Dipping the cloth into the warmly scented bath water, Kira wrung it partially dry, then began to wipe the dirt from his face. Her touch was gentle, but thorough. 

"Major?" Bashir was startled by the sudden, intimate familiarity of the simple gesture. "This isn't necessary. Whatever your ruse to remove me from the lower decks, you've done enough." 

"Have I?" Kira's eyes narrowed. 

"Yes. Look, Major, I know what you think of me. I'm not one of your favorite people." Bashir felt an urgent need to distance himself from the Bajoran, but was unable to move without attracting the attention of the Klingon guards. 

"Shh." Kira placed her forefinger across his lips. "This is not the time to protest." Then, in a low voice meant only for his ears she added, "Play along, Doctor. It may be the only chance you have." 

Kira dipped the cloth again, wrung it, and began to cleanse filth from his neck. He remained perfectly still, afraid of upsetting whatever she had planned, yet unwilling to give in to what could be a most pleasurable experience. 

"What do you mean, 'my only chance'?" 

Kira paused. "The Intendant is convinced you are Kira Nery's consort. You've been brought from ore processing to provide certain services. It seemed a reasonable argument, and the only way to have you removed from the labor gangs. However," and Bashir wondered if she was thinking 'unfortunately', "the Intendant expects more to happen than just small talk." 

"This isn't necessary, Major." The bald sexuality of the suggestion, intriguing under other circumstances, was completely contrary to what he had come to expect from the Bajoran. 

"Such an incident may prove to be a great embarrassment, even an inhibition where our working relationship is concerned." 

"You _do_ talk too much." Kira's tone was sharp and irritated. "Besides, it may be impossible to return to our own universe, in which case, you would fare much better as Kira Nery's lover than as a mine slave." 

"But, major--" 

"_Don't_ call me Major again. Not here. Call me Kira, or Nerys." Leaning over, Kira covered his mouth with hers, her lips soft, yielding. When she pulled back from the kiss, she watched his reaction carefully. Mouth slightly agape, he stared in disbelief. "Why don't you just relax and enjoy this, Doctor?" 

Searching for any excuse to forestall her advances, Bashir tipped his head toward the Klingons still standing guard at the door. "With an audience?" he asked. 

Kira shrugged. "The guards are Garak's idea. I can't send them away. He insists they remain as long as you are here." As she spoke, Kira found the fastening of his uniform and slowly opened the front of his jumpsuit, stopping inches below his navel. Sliding her hands inside the filthy fabric, she shoved the tattered top over his shoulders and down his back, stopping when it tangled at his bound wrists. Slowly, her touch feather light, her hands retraced their path over his shoulders until they rested on his chest. Bashir tensed, waiting to see what she would do next. 

"This might be more pleasurable for us both, if you convinced the guards to remove the binders," he ventured tentatively. 

"No," Kira said, almost too quickly. "Another of Garak's orders. You must remain bound. Though there are certain advantages to that." Kira purred with a husky sensuality that promised much. She appeared to actually relish the encounter. 

For a moment, they each sat motionless, the doctor uncertain how he was expected to respond, and Kira apparently frustrated by her inability to remove his remaining shirt. The pause stretched into tense silence until Kira shattered the taut stillness by waving to the Klingon guard. As Duvan approached, she stood and walked behind him. He heard her speak briefly to the Klingon, then he was grasped roughly by the shoulders and pulled to his feet. The binders snapped off his wrists allowing his arms to fall to his sides. Duvan leaned closer, his lips inches from Bashir's ear, his voice little more than a growl, but rife with threat. "You can remove your own clothing, or stall, and I will do it for you." 

His tone left little doubt he would do as he threatened. With deliberate slowness, the doctor let the uniform sleeves slide from his hands, then pulled the turtleneck gray shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor at his feet. Instantly, the guard grabbed his arms, the binders were attached again to his wrists, and he was forced back to his knees. The guard melted into the shadows. Bashir noted, somewhat absently, that he had left grimy smudges on the immaculate carpet. 

Kira resumed her place on the floor in front of him, the heavy robe she wore slipping from her shoulder as she settled the garment around her. Reaching into the warm bath, she recovered her cloth and with great care began to wipe his shoulders and arms, moving to his chest, gently working around the bruises. She did not speak, but he could feel her gauging his response. He had no idea if the washing was symbolic, something she did to prolong foreplay, or simply because he was filthy. He found he was holding his breath, and tried to relax. It appeared, whatever would happen, was beyond his control, as had been everything else since their arrival. 

With exaggerated slowness, the Bajoran scrubbed each centimeter of his chest, then, languished her attention on the flat of his stomach. Kira's hands crept slowly downward until the remnants of his uniform impeded her advance. This same fabric did little to impede his response to her touch. 

"Major--" 

Kira silenced him with a deeply passionate kiss. Pulling away, a flush colored the Bajoran's cheeks and she licked her lips slowly. "She is a fool for not using you." 

"Using me? Who?" 

"You know who." Kira seemed distracted. 

"Dax?" 

"She is a fool," Kira repeated, then leaned against him, her kiss lingering. Bashir could feel her breasts through the fabric of her robe, pressing against the sensitive flesh of his chest. "A fool," she murmured. 

Kira ran her hands down his abdomen, teasing the fabric at his waist. The top of his uniform was tangled beneath and behind him, his arms immobilized. She had allowed the shoulders of her robe to slip further, and her breasts, creamy white and delicate pink brushing against his skin left trails of fire. 

"I don't believe this," Bashir muttered hoarsely. "No, Kira. This is not right. It is not what you want." 

"And if it is the only thing that will save your life?" The question was savage, threatening. 

"I won't bargain for my life this way." 

"You have no choice. The Intendant believes you are Kira Nery's lover. It is the only reason you were removed from ore processing. If you go back -- I may not be able to help you again." The words pounded with a sure and certain logic. 

Every instinct told Bashir to resist her advances, but the smell and feel of her pressed so close left him giddy. She had slipped her knees between his own, her hands resting on his thighs. As her lips and tongue met his a soft groan escaped him. 

"You really have no choice," she said. "None at all." 

***** 

Kira Nerys drifted in a half twilight doze bordering sleep. She felt sated, sluggish, but strangely satisfied. With great reluctance, she force herself upward, through the layered dreams to full wakefulness. She lay on the floor, the warmth of another naked body wrapped around hers. With a start, she remembered where she was with whom, and what had occurred. 

Rolling carefully away, she propped herself on her elbows and studied the young man beside her. He was sleeping soundly, spent by his labors below in the mine and his service of her desires. The latter had been far more pleasant than she had expected. His reluctance had made him all the more desirable, his concern about her well being, touching. She half regretted being as hard on him as she had originally been. 

Sitting up, she stretched languidly, noting little details that had escaped her before. The Terran was still filthy by her standards, and could use a good bath. The possibilities amused her for a short while. Long and lean, his body was thinner than she would have preferred, though not as thin as a few weeks in the mines would make him. Though no match for her Klingon bodyguard, he had a wiry toughness that would see him through and he was undeniably handsome, by either Bajoran or Terran standards. In sleep, his face was calm, though she had been vaguely aware of the twitching reaction of a dream, perhaps a nightmare, shortly before she herself had fully awoken. His olive skin was as yet unscarred, still, she frowned. A bruise on his jaw had begun to darken, leaving a livid stain. She had struck him there, though she had not used enough force to cause such discoloration. There were other marks as well, obvious now that she took the time to look. Welts and contusions along his arms and back, which spoke volumes of his treatment by those below. He had winced when she touched the large bruise on his side, though at the time she was willing to induce the pain, so intense was her own passion. She would have the wound tended to. He was far too adept at satisfying her needs to be allowed to be lost in the masses working below. Very adept indeed, and that disturbed her. Kira Nerys had denied interest in this young man and now wondered why. 

Kira rose from the cushioning carpet. Though comfortable and well suited for sleeping, she had no desire to spend any more time on the floor. She wanted a bath and a meal. Rising, she drew her robe around her, then padded across the room to the closest couch. Removing a woven blanket from it, she returned and covered the sleeping man. He deserved at least some small comfort. Removal of the binders would be next, regardless of Garak's orders. As long as she did not make a habit of such gestures, no one would think less of her. When she had arranged the blanket, she walked towards her sleeping area, into the shadowed darkness. 

"I trust it was stimulating?" 

Kira whirled. Seated just inside the door to her bedchamber, a smug smile on his face, was Garak. He leaned casually back in a chair, one foot propped on a low table, with a clear view of where she and the Terran had been. She felt a flush burn her cheeks. 

"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded. 

"You know quite well what the meaning is. I enjoy watching you play." 

"Watching me play?" 

"Certainly you didn't notice another pair of eyes." Garak stood and moved closer, standing inches from her. He reached out to idly finger the lapel of her robe. "Perhaps, someday, I will do more than watch." 

"Never." Kira pulled the robe more tightly around herself. "You have no right to access my personal quarters." 

"As Chief of Security for this station, I have the right to access anything I feel necessary. You have shown entirely too much interest in this particular Terran, and I do not trust you." 

"It is not your place to trust me, you perverted, voyeuristic, insufferable --" Kira raised her hand to strike, but Garak captured her wrist, holding it in an unbreakable grip. 

"Cardi. You don't say it, but I read the contempt in your actions and words. You mustn't forget, we are allies." He released her hand, scarlet imprints from the pressure of his fingers marred the smooth, white perfection of her arm. "Besides, this foolish predilection for playing with the Terran slaves as though they were toys will one day prove to be your undoing." 

Kira was furious. This time Garak had gone too far. She was about to let him know just how far out of bounds he had stepped when a muffled grunt caught her attention. She turned toward the outer room, taking two steps toward the door when Garak's arm across the doorway stopped her. The Klingon guards were forcing the Terran from her quarters. The door closed behind them before she could protest. 

"What is the meaning of this?" she hissed as she turned her rage on Garak. 

"He is being returned to ore processing. Where he belongs. He will be shipped to Bajor and the mines on the next transport." Garak snickered as he spoke. "There, he will be beyond you reach." 

Kira trembled with fury, at Garak's intrusion, at the presumption she was not to be trusted, at his gall. 

Garak had turned to leave, then paused to twist the knife a bit deeper. "Let's face it my dear, you can not save him. You   
will be far too busy saving yourself. You can bed this Terran as you bed Sisko, but he is from the other universe. He does not belong here. And you, more than anyone, knows he must die. You are only forestalling the inevitable. In the mines his death will go unnoticed. Just another Terran casualty. And you, Intendant, can end this foolish game." 

Garak turned on his heel and left. 

Alone, Kira Nerys, Intendant of the Bajoran Sector, seethed with silent indignation, knowing, but unwilling to admit, Garak was right.   


End   
  
  



End file.
